


Little Blue-Eyed Boy

by rhinoctopus



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 01:37:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhinoctopus/pseuds/rhinoctopus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>JohnLock AU. Eight year old Sherlock sees a crying boy on the roof next to his. I can't write summaries, excuse this piece of horseshit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Blue-Eyed Boy

Sherlock POV:  
Someone was shuffling outside, on the roof of the house next door. They connected, our roofs, across an alley. I knew the people who lived there had a son who was about my age, 8. I flung open my window, leaning out. The boy sat, sniffling on the roof, his eyes red from crying, headphones around his neck. The headphones weren’t plugged into anything however. I had never actually seen him, only heard my parents talk about him “Poor boy,” they said. His hair was blond, almost light brown, and his eyes were a bright cornflower blue. He wore a jumper and denim pants.

“Are you okay?” He looked up suddenly, having not noticed me. I didn’t actually know his name, even. He was just the “poor boy”. He slumped back over and hugged his knees to his chest after looking at me for a moment.

“I’m fine. Just fine.” Red eyes? He had been crying. Headphones around his neck but not to listen to music? He had probably been trying to block out some sort of noise, and considering he had been crying and the curtains on the lower floor of his house were drawn, his parents were fighting.

“No, you’re not. Your parents have been fighting.” His eyes widened, and he tilted his head slightly to the side, confused. 

“How did you know that?” I explained my deductions to him, his eyes wide and bright with fascination. “I’m John Watson.” John. That fit him. A clean-cut name for a clean-cut boy. A boy who would prefer to stay safe inside with his tea, jam, and toast. A sweet boy. The exact opposite of me, then.

“I’m Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes. And, just give me a minute.” I crawled back inside the window, then rushed downstairs to the kitchen. I quickly made a pot of tea, took two cups from the cabinet (I had to stand on a chair. How degrading.), and rushed back up to my bedroom. Pulling the blanket off of my bed, I crawled back through the window. “Here, John. I made tea.” I wrapped the blanket around him, then poured tea for the two of us. I liked this John fellow. I liked him a lot.


End file.
